Weather the Storm
by Aoi Ryuu
Summary: Hisoka's not-so-fond reminiscing during a bad thunderstorm is interrupted by Tsuzuki's arrival.


This is my apology for 'Welcome Home'. I don't even remember why I posted that one. I couldn't get a feel for it while I was writing it, and I realized after re-reading it just how blah it was. It could have been handled MUCH better. Thanks to the people who left positive reviews, but that was not a fic I consider up to my normal writing standards.  
  
So, here's where I try to make up for it. Not as fluffy, and also not oozing all that sap. Just sorta dripping angst. Nut bunnies...I wrote an angsty fic. Poor Tsuzuki. Poor Hisoka. I hate seeing Tsuzuki sad, I really do.  
  
Post-Kyoto. Angst. No genkiness on Tsuzuki's part. Rain, tears, and general wetness. Hisoka's POV. Prolly one-shot.  
  
Disclaimer: The characters of Yami no Matsuei belong to Yoko Matsushita, not me.  
  
~*~})|({~*~  
  
It's raining. Water is hurtling down from threatening clouds, dark and looming, as a monster of a storm pounds the world outside. The noise of the storm is enough to cover anything, I'm sure. Screaming, talking, crying: no sound would carry above the roar of the storm. A monstrous storm to hide the sounds of a monster's tears.  
  
It's almost habit still for me to cry during bad storms, but I only allow it when I'm alone. I wouldn't want to cry in front of others. Who am I to deserve the small release tears provide anyway? That's what they always told me. Monsters don't deserve to cry. I should be grateful instead, they told me, that they hadn't killed me.  
  
They never knew how badly I wished for it sometimes. Death, I mean, not tears.  
  
I never hated Muraki for killing me.  
  
I hate him for everything else--for raping me, for hurting Tsuzuki, even for drawing my death out for three years, making it as painful as possible--but not for actually killing me.  
  
I didn't become a shinigami for revenge. I chose this fate to find my killer, possibly to thank him. I'm sure it would seem strange to anyone who doesn't know me very well that I was thankful to be murdered, but back then all I knew was that someone had released me from the pain of living. Someone had freed me from the hatred and fear my family poured upon me and infused my mind with.  
  
I still wonder: were they why I became so twisted within myself? Was it their fault for infecting me with their disgust, or was it my fault for being too weak to keep their disgust from becoming my disgust, my hatred, my fear of self.  
  
That's right...I was afraid of...myself. I was afraid to be stuck with that horrific power. I knew I was a monster: the cacophony of emotional noise that cut through me told me so in more ways than one. I didn't want to be left alone with myself, certain I would go mad from the emotions in my soul, whether mine or another's.  
  
I didn't know who I was. Everyone else's feelings became mine and so I feared them as well. If they knew, they would hate me. They would want me gone. I didn't want that. I didn't want to be left all alone with these feelings of worthlessness that had been artificially created within me.  
  
So when I was assigned a partner I clung to him the only way I knew how--I pushed him away. So backwards...everything was so confused in my mind that it seemed like a good idea at the time. If I made it obvious that I didn't want to have anything to do with him, perhaps he would not be afraid of me. Perhaps he would not send me away.   
  
He would dislike me, maybe even hate me, but he would hate me for me, rather than for some mutation of my mind that I never asked for or wanted. At least the hatred would be clean.  
  
Except, he didn't hate me...and that scared me even more. Was something wrong with him? Was he plotting something, using me somehow? Wasn't it normal to hate a creature like me? Especially such a hurtful, uncaring individual as I tried to appear.  
  
It took me a very long time to realize that he didn't want to hate me. All he wanted was to help. It was a notion that I couldn't understand. I didn't know why he would want to bother. I didn't know what he expected in return.  
  
The kindness continued: a friendly word, a reassuring smile, the occasional comforting touch. It was those touches that most confused me.  
  
He didn't care that touching me meant I was stealing his emotions. It didn't matter to him that I shrugged away nearly every time, unused to contact being anything but painful. Everything with him was care and warmth and some odd understanding, but I continued to keep my distance. I still didn't know what he wanted from me.  
  
To this day I'm still not entirely sure what he wants from me, but now I know that I would willingly give him whatever it is. I've become disturbingly dependant on his warmth, his casual touches that feel anything but, and his true smile.  
  
I haven't seen him truly smile in so long. False expressions of happiness have been plastered on his face for weeks, but it's no comparison at all to when he really smiles. When Tsuzuki smiles--truly smiles--he glows. Not just his face, but everywhere, every part of him glows with joy.  
  
The loss of that breathtaking smile hurts as much as anything else I've cried over tonight. Maybe more. He was the first one who ever cared, but now I find myself wondering if it would have been better had we never met. If he had never become my partner, would he have gotten so caught up in Muraki's schemes? Could it be my fault for creating a link between him and that silver-eyed demon?  
  
I want Tsuzuki here. I want him to smile at me and tell me that it isn't my fault. I want him to pet my hair and laugh lightly at how silly I'm being, crying during a storm so no one will hear me when there is no one around to hear me. He'd laugh, light and low, and hug me and I'd feel better because he wanted me to feel better.  
  
Or maybe not. Would he laugh at me, or would he add his own tears to mine? Would I be the one to comfort him? Would I be able to?  
  
Not that it matters. He isn't here. He has no reason to come. It's a moot point. A tiny part of me, my pride, I suppose, is glad that he won't come, won't see me like this.  
  
Tea. I'll make tea. That will calm me down. That will take my mind off shades from the past and shades of smiles that darken the present.  
  
Walk to the kitchen. Turn on the lights. A sharp, hissing intake of breath interrupts the stillness as I shield my eyes from the too-harsh light of the single yellowed bulb overhead. God, that hurts. It's just so unreasonably painful. Long minutes of hesitant blinking finally allow my aching eyes to become accustomed to the light. Back to work.  
  
Teakettle beside the stove. I catch a glimpse of myself in the dull, battered metal and wince. Red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes stare back at me hollowly, still loosing tears that trail down my flushed cheeks. I look like some wretched clown with my nose strawberry red on my pale face, and my hair mussed and untidy. It doesn't matter. Focus on the tea.  
  
Fill the kettle with water, set it on the stove, turn on the burner under the kettle. Tea bags in the cupboard. I need to buy more of my favorite. Find a cup.  
  
I have plenty of clean mugs, but for some reason I want the one sitting in the sink. Who am I to argue with myself if it keeps me busy?  
  
Turn on the hot water, feel it, wait for the temperature to rise. Dish soap on the sponge, just a dot, rinse it, rub it to create suds. Wet the mug, scrub it, inside and out. Around the rim, around the bottom, clean it thoroughly. Rinse it again. Ow! Too hot. Doesn't matter, the burns will heal. Find a cloth, dry the cup.  
  
Cup on the table, tea bag in the cup. Now I have to wait for the water to boil.  
  
As if anyone could forget the raucous movement of the storm outside, thunder announces its presence, rolling across the sky in a hollow boom, echoed by a quiet knock at the door.  
  
It couldn't be.  
  
But...who else would?  
  
Slowly making my way to the door, I find myself hoping both that I was hearing things and that I wasn't. Hoping for Tsuzuki and hoping for solitude.  
  
I open the door to see a slumped form I know all too well. Violet eyes set in a face far too young for a man of nearly a hundred and four years crinkle at the edges as a wan smile ghosts over his face. Dark brown hair darkened to black by the rainwater that drenches him and drips to puddle on the porch hangs over his eyes, plastered to his face. His habitual trench coat looks as if it must weigh at least twice its normal weight.  
  
"Hi," he says.  
  
That snaps me out of my paralysis and I move aside, helping him out of the sodden coat as he enters.  
  
"You could have teleported."  
  
He shrugs. "I was out for a walk and ended up here."  
  
Out for a walk in that? I hide my concern as I turn up the thermostat on my way to the bathroom in search of towels. Tsuzuki trails behind me, leaving puddles in his wake to evaporate off my floor.  
  
My raid on the cabinets yields a fluffy white towel, which I offer him wordlessly. He reaches to take it, eyes grateful, but his hand changes course before he touches the towel. Carefully, his fingers brush my cheek, just under my eye.  
  
"You've been crying."  
  
"No." I push the towel at him and he takes it automatically, breaking the contact. Draping it over his head to dry his hair he looks at me, eyes flat without his good-humor to make them sparkle.  
  
"You haven't been sleeping right, then."  
  
"Yes I have."  
  
"Pick one. I'm going to worry about you anyways."  
  
"Did you walk through that mess just to worry about me?"  
  
The shrill whistle of the teakettle interrupts before he can answer, shrieking for attention. Obediently I turn from him and enter the kitchen to deal with it.  
  
Turn off the stove, bring down another mug, add a tea bag for Tsuzuki--the last of my jasmine green.  
  
He comes in as I'm pouring water into my cup. I glance at the second one and he nods and thanks me quietly. I obligingly fill the second cup as well and slide it across to him as he pulls out a chair and drops into it. He's wet still, his clothing soaked by the driving rain. He'll be cold soon, even with the heater working to warm the house, and I don't own anything he could borrow.  
  
"You're going to catch a cold." My voice has taken on that horrid empty quality that has marked his since the Kyoto incident. I take a greedy drink of the water that barely tastes of tea, hoping it burns through the emptiness as it scalds my throat. I glance at Tsuzuki, hoping he didn't notice. I don't want to upset him by burning myself.  
  
He's sitting still, eyes closed as he cradles the cup, fingers seeking warmth. I watch as his shoulders rise and fall slowly with a deep breath as he inhales the floral scent of the tea.  
  
"This is your favorite, isn't it?" His eyes remain closed as he asks.  
  
"Aa."  
  
"Thought so." Then, lower, "Smells like you."  
  
There is not much I can say in response to that, so I remain silent, staring into my teacup as the water pulls flavor from the leaves.  
  
"Why were you crying?"  
  
"I wasn't."  
  
"Then why haven't you been sleeping well?"  
  
"I have been."  
  
Another period of silence follows during which I gauge my tea to be well enough infused with the leaves' essence to drink it. Tsuzuki follows suit, and soon both of us have finished the vitalizing liquid and feel all the warmer inside because of it.  
  
For lack of anything better to do, but more to keep my mind focused on something meaningless, I collect the mugs and set them beside the sink to wash. I feel eyes on my back and I know Tsuzuki is watching me. I focus hard on the task at hand, suddenly not wanting to think at all about Tsuzuki staring at me.  
  
Just like before. Turn on the hot water, feel it, wait for the temperature to rise. Dish soap on the sponge, just a dot, rinse it, rub it to create suds. Wet the mug, scrub it, inside and out. Around the rim, around the bottom, clean it thoroughly. Rinse it again. Ow! Too hot. Add cold water. I don't want to burn myself in front of him. Find a cloth, dry the cup. Start on the second one. Ignore the attention from behind.  
  
Suds, scrub, rinse, dry. Clean up the sink. Rinse out the sponge, hang up the cloth, put up the mugs. He's still watching.  
  
There's a window in my kitchen, right over the sink. The curtains are drawn now, but I can see the storm behind them easily in my mind's eye. I watch my recreation of nature's tantrum as I ask him a question that's been bothering me since we met.  
  
"What do you want from me?"  
  
My stomach twists as offended silence answers. Resignation is quick to follow, however, accompanied by the scrape of chair legs as Tsuzuki pushes away from the table. I force myself into complete stillness as his soft footfalls signal his approach.  
  
He's right behind me now, warmth diminished by his still damp shirt that must have gone uncomfortably cold and clingy around his torso. Still, I find myself fighting the urge to lean back against him and let him wrap me in a hug that would, if nothing else, show me that he's trying to get back to what he was.  
  
"When you answer my question, I'll answer yours."  
  
"What's your question?"  
  
"Why were you crying?"  
  
"...Because it's raining."  
  
A moment passes, then, "Oh." Just like that he understands.  
  
Arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me into the chilling wetness of his shirt. My own arms are pinned to my sides by the embrace, but there is nothing threatening about being trapped against Tsuzuki. I don't struggle as his hold tightens over my chest, or when his head drops to rest in the crook of my neck, breath tickling the skin over my collarbone. His lips brush against my skin as he speaks to me.  
  
"Can I stay with you? That's all I want from you. Just let me stay with you."  
  
"That's all? Nothing else?"  
  
He shakes his head and buries his face in my shoulder.  
  
The back of my shirt is almost as wet as his now, and his sleeves have started transferring water to the front of my shirt. If it were anyone else, it would be uncomfortable. If it were anyone else, I wouldn't have allowed it in the first place. With Tsuzuki, though, I find myself wanting to stay like this. It's safe here, with a vague emotional warmth that eases my soul if not my shivers.  
  
"Not going to scold me for getting you wet?" The murmured question is almost sullen, a failed tease about my temperament. I feel Tsuzuki wince.  
  
"No." On impulse, I lower my head to kiss the back of his hand, raising my hands to rest palms on his arms, clearly accepting his embrace.  
  
The surprise in his soft violet eyes as his head shoots up to stare at me is expected. I try to smile at him then, I honestly do, but the time isn't right for it and all I accomplish is a softening of my own eyes. He understands that too, though, and smiles back at me in a broken way that would have been sad had it not been happier still than all his false smiles.  
  
His eyes slide shut, and he nuzzles back into my shoulder. His lips brush my neck in what could have been a kiss, or could have been nothing, and despite knowing that it was too soon for something like love to start, I take comfort from the action.  
  
"You'll let me stay, then?" Once again his words are spoken into my skin and I wonder if all the tingles I feel could be attributed only to the cold wet cloth around me.  
  
"Aa."  
  
"Always?" He was pushing, almost desperate to know he was wanted. This time he most definitely did kiss me, lingering just below my chin, tasting.  
  
I shrug my shoulder, just a bit, just enough to signal him to stop, to ask him to wait for another day. He nods and breathes in deeply, relaxing around me as I answer him.  
  
"You can stay with me for as long as you need."  
  
"I need you...."  
  
The comment was muttered so low that it was almost lost to my ears. I shiver, tensing ever so slightly. There are so many connotations to that statement. So many meanings it can take on.  
  
I focus once more on Tsuzuki's feelings to clarify. For now, all I can feel is an emotional need. If he had meant anything else by his words, it will come later, after we've both had time to recover and to heal.  
  
Things will turn out okay, though. My chosen place is with him, and his is with me. Whatever happens in the future will be okay, so long as we both have a place to return to.  
  
It is with reluctance that I finally pull away and turn to face him. He looks at me and tries to smile, but a loss that stems from so much more than my simple action just now is apparent in his eyes. It is this instant that I finally realize that it will be a long time before he can truly smile again.  
  
"You'd better get home and get into dry clothes before you get sick."  
  
He shakes his head and pulls me into another hug. One of his hands looses itself in my hair as the other settles around my waist, shaking. He bows his head to whisper in my ear.  
  
"I don't want to be alone."  
  
"Baka." I say it lightly, a vain attempt to thrust our exchange closer to something normal. "I'll go with you."  
  
"You'll stay? Will you stay with me?"  
  
My arms finally rise to return the embrace. How could it happen that someone so seemingly strong could become so weak. No, not weak but...but what? Needy? Lonely? Broken. That's what it is. He came apart and now he needs to be mended.  
  
I pull back a bit, just enough to look him eye-to-eye. Carefully, slowly, one of my hands finds its way to his face and brushes aside a drying lock of hair.  
  
"I'll stay with you." I pause, half afraid to say what I'm thinking. If I say it now there will be no way to take it back. It won't be something I can excuse as distraught babble. It will be true...and it will be permanent.  
  
"Remember?" Again I can feel my expression ease with a smile that never quite reaches my mouth. A secret smile, only for him. "My place is with you." It was true enough already anyways--no harm in making sure he knew. Perhaps it will even help him recover.  
  
A grateful wave of emotion nearly swamps me as I am all but crushed in the renewed hug. I am suddenly aware of what it must be like to be a stuffed animal, and somehow the thought of being Tsuzuki's comfort doesn't bother me in the least.  
  
I feel him beginning to activate the transportation, and I reach for my own power to help him. We've made it through the storm, wounded and changed, but with new insights into ourselves. It will take time to recover, to reconstruct our idea of normality, but time is something we have plenty of. Time to heal, to change, to grow, and most importantly, time to learn to smile. 


End file.
